play time

i don't pretend to know much of anything about video games -- two notable exceptions being the ever-popular commodore 64 classics, burger time and maniac mansion (circa 1989). and, no doubt owing to the fact that my phone's about as un-fancy as they get (sorry, did you say you wanted to send me a photo? *bewilderment*), this ignorance extends to all cell phone gaming as well. all of this may explain how i ended up very inaccurately assessing the wild gesticulations of the smoker-voiced, leather-faced, sixty-something woman seated beside me this morning.

when i glance in her direction, it becomes clear that she's playing a game on the phone she's holding over her lap. but, just moments earlier -- while i'm engrossed in reading about canada's official languages and can see her only out of the corner of my eye -- what i eventually come to understand as a vigorous index-finger-led manual assault on her telephone screen (fastfurious and relentless, like a woodpecker on crack) initially seems a hell of a lot more like, er, an entirely other kind of desperation-infused solo act. (her sixty-odd years have generated some mad skills.) yikes! apparently, she just couldn't sit still while her husband was off fetching their drinks.

in the end, her (fr)antics remind me that there's a third video game i (somehow) knew as a pre-teen: leisure suit larry in the land of lounge lizards.

and now back to translating…

what's in a name?

when you place your drink order, and the barista asks for your name so s/he can write it on your to-go cup, s/he has a very clear practical objective in mind: to easily distinguish your drink from someone else's. (calling all rocket scientists!) but don't be fooled: there's some sleight of hand at play here. indeed, this is manipulation at its simplest, at its best. Bill Shakes, via a star-crossed lover, once asked: what's in a name? well, i'll tell ya: your entire identity! the whole of your ego(mania). wrapped up -- quickly, succinctly -- in a single word. a single, glorious word. surely, your most favourite of all words out there, in fact. so, when the barista calls that name (grande no-whip hocho for T!) and then has the gall to use it beyond the cup (have a great day, T!) -- with a sincere smile to boot, as though s/he really knows you, as if s/he really cares -- there's a sudden zing of wow-i-feel-awfully-special that charges through your core, zips jaw-to-temples up both sides of your face, and culminates in an electric fiesta on top of your head (¡arriba!), right above the spot that was dangerously soft when you were a newborn.

thing is, you can't quite be sure that, before uttering the magic word, s/he'd actually said have a great day. it mighta been: geez, your hair's pretty grey, or gawd, you look rough today. you've been had by the zing-zip-fiesta! that's what's in a name. and it's how you know that -- even though you're the one forking up the change -- you're also actually at the fragile mercy of the one who's collecting it. the cup's to go, but you're coming back.

and now back to translating…

waking up and smelling the coffee (shopper)

every now and then, you find yourself downwind of…well...wind. borborygmus emissions. gas. flatus. flatulence. so potent that the aroma of the boldest of bold blends permeating the coffee shop cannot overpower it.

but even the intestinal unloading of a passer-by offers something of a silver lining (don't think about that for too long): yes, after the shock, after the wheezing, after the questioning (is it real? is this actually happening?), there is the humour. and the jolt that such laughter pumps into the day (y'know, via the nostrils) has gotta be better than the jumpstart that comes from any caffeinated beverage.

and now (*cough*) back to translating…

coffinity

working in a coffee shop when you're tackling a thesis becomes particularly tricky as you reach the pivotal stage where your writing and research have you boomeranging (*boing boing*) between not only your computer screen (where you're making "historic" observations…er…) and the extra monitor you've set up (to simultaneously view excel spreadsheets you pretend to have mastered) but also a wide range of books and journals and human sources that -- when you were peanutbuttering your toast this morning -- you had no idea you were going to need to consult this afternoon. at this point in your process, you've also reached your 75-book limit at the university library (aaah!), which means that, in order to take out that new book you (so desperately) need, you're first going to have to return one of the texts that's spent so many months on your desk you've practically come to regard it as an integral member of your family. (which reminds you: you really should call home again one day.)


in short, this is the moment when it dawns on you: in spite of your truly inspired pipe-dream of hauling all nearly fourscore books around town with you in a trusty granny-grocery-cart (which you've seriously considered purchasing from the dollar store with some of your scholarship funds), you simply cannot tote every one of your "what if i need to consult you today?" books to the coffee shop. and you're nothing without those books. no-thing! so, much to your own chagrin, and after trying to stave off reality, you find yourself beshackled to your "real" office. the one that never hosts first dates for eavesdropping on; the one that only occasionally welcomes a visit from Professor FLQ; the one that, most prominently, features a desk piling high with some books you now refer to as "bibles" and others you wink at on the regular, as if to say: don't you worry, Little Guy, i will read you one day! (um, this just in: no, you won't.)

worst of all, Real Office features a perpetual, head-on attack by that rat bastard named Silence. bang. bang. bang. under these conditions, how can you possibly concentrate on the pure genius stirring about in your brain! grrr. you decidedly miss the coffee shop. but what can you do?!

enter the bee's knees! (which, incidentally, is the name of a coffee shop near calgary.)

yes, in this age of "there's an app for everything," you can still satisfy your affinity with cafés and nourish your coffeeshop creativity -- thanks to coffitivity! more than sharing your philosophy on ambient noise, it's a timely answer to your prayers. aaaand you won't smell like java when you head home. point! *sigh of relief*

and NOW back to translating…